Friday, July 20, 2007 Juarez, Mexico: Part IV "Can you translate the message for the English speakers here," Ramon asked me in Spanish. We were at his church, dressed in the best Sunday clothes we could stuff into our small black duffel bags. I nodded and qualified it in Spanish with "I'm not the best, but I will try." He patted me on the shoulder and I left to go back to my seat. Turning to one of my group members, I whispered "I have to translate the sermon for everyone into English---I'm so nervous! Pray for me, please!" She said a little prayer and encouraged me with some kind words. Still, there was a little voice inside of me that was freaking out. It had been two full years since I had truly had the opportunity to be immersed in the language and I feared that I had lost a lot of my skills. Four years of Spanish at the university is nothing to sneeze at, but it doesn't compare to using it all the time and living in a foreign country. Church began with a worship time. This is when I fell in love with it. There were no acoustic guitars. No basses. No drums. Just a karaoke-like CD player at the front of the room, two microphones hooked up to each plug. As the music began, I looked around the room at other church members who were already singing along to "Ven, es tiempo de adorarle" (Come, now is the time to worship). As cheesy as it may sound, I felt my spirit soar and I began feeling that swell of emotion that happens when the Holy Spirit is moving in amazing ways. The tears came to my eyes and I could help but feel overwhelmed by the heart of this congregation. After the song finished, Pastor Ramon explained in his broken English "Now, you Americans may not dance in church, but here, we dance." The song "Remoleondo" began and as the chorus hit, church members began spinning in a circle in their small space near their chairs. Then, everyone began kicking their feet out like ska dancers. With ribbons twirling at the front of the room, four little girls danced along to the music and church members grinned from ear to ear. What a great church service, I thought. As worship closed, Pastor Ramon cued me and I walked to the front of the congregation of about 60, prepared to translate his sermon. All of a sudden, he called our trip leader up, who spoke basically NO Spanish. What's going on here? I thought to myself. Then, Ramon told me that I was going to translate Bill's words for the congregation and Bill was to tell them why we were there and anything else. This is not what I signed up for! I thought as I got even more nervous. It was bumpy, and absolutely terrible most of the time. I had only been in the country for less than a day and hadn't had much practice time. Already I was trying to translate for a big group. I sat down, feeling disheartened about my abilities. My group mate hugged my shoulders and told me she thought I did a good job. Hah! You didn't understand what I was saying, though, I told her. Though I wasn't up at the front to translate the message into English (something MUCH easier to do), I quietly translated sections of it for others in my row. I felt at least a little bit better by the end of the service because I had helped a few people understand what was going on. Things would get better, I told myself. We left on the bus that day and headed back to our bunks.